by Alan Paul
The Benno-less Nightcrawlers continued with a new bassist, Keith Ferguson, who quit Jimmie’s band to join. The band built a bit of a following, and Stevie would occasionally bust out Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” or a Jimi Hendrix song.
BRAMHALL: We decided to keep the band together. We still wanted to branch out from Jimmie’s Muddy Waters and B. B. King–style blues. Mostly we just knew we wanted to keep writing and playing together.
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: Doyle had a great voice, and Keith had played with Lewis Cowdrey and all of these people that had come to Austin from California. Doyle and Keith weren’t just older than Stevie; they were older than me, and Stevie learned a lot from playing with such experienced guys.
MIKE STEELE, friend of Stevie’s: Keith was a huge influence on Stevie in terms of both music and style. Jimmie and Stevie were really close, and there was a deep admiration between them, but Stevie wasn’t always playing what Jimmie thought he should be playing, and he would tell him in no uncertain terms. Stevie was always trying to get big brother’s approval, while Keith would tell him to play what he wants. He was a different kind of big brother, telling Stevie, “Be yourself, and you will be all right.”
JOE SUBLETT, saxophonist, member of the Cobras: I heard about the Nightcrawlers playing at this little joint La Cucaracha. Those guys were so cool, and Stevie stuck out. His playing had less Albert King and Jimi Hendrix and a lot more B. B. King, Otis Rush, and Buddy Guy as well as a Kenny Burrell / Grant Green soul/jazz vibe. Doyle was singing from the kit, and he was great. It was exciting.
O’BRIEN: My car broke down late at night, and Stevie offered me a lift. I was going to get someone to try and look at my car, and he said, “What are you talking about? Just hang out and we’ll deal with it in the morning.” He was living with Doyle, and the next morning, the two of them were playing together in the garage, working on songs.
GIBBONS: That was one stellar combination with a stalwart and solid sound. The combination of Doyle’s remarkable singing and Stevie’s guitar-stinging was something to behold.
LINDI BETHEL, Stevie’s girlfriend, 1974–1979: I saw the Nightcrawlers with Stevie and Storm with Jimmie at Soap Creek. My girlfriends had been raving about Stevie, and there was lots of love for him and Jimmie in the graffiti on the walls of the women’s bathroom, with hearts all over!
Stevie Ray Vaughan in the Nightcrawlers, Armadillo World Headquarters, 1973. (Kathy Murray)
At the end of the night, Stevie came over and put his head down on the table. I said, “Are you okay?” and he said, “Oh, I’m fine—just tired.” When I went to leave, I had a flat tire. I saw Jimmie driving away, so I yelled and asked for a ride. I got in his car, and as we started driving, the door opens, and Stevie jumps in next to me. Our legs touched, and I felt a shot of electricity. We didn’t say a word to each other.
We pull up at my house, and as I’m getting out, Stevie asks, “Do you want to go to a party at my brother’s house?” and I said, “Okay!” But there was no party—it was just me and Stevie. We talked all night and spent the night there. That’s when we fell in love and became a couple for the next five years.
* * *
The Nightcrawlers signed a contract with ZZ Top manager Bill Ham, who recorded their show at the Warehouse in New Orleans and threw the group out on the road for extended runs. They opened for Kiss and Electric Light Orchestra (ELO) in Detroit and Atlanta before breaking up somewhere in Mississippi. Ham demanded they repay the money he had invested. A dispirited Vaughan felt broken. He was not yet twenty years old.
“No one really knew what was going on with them and Bill Ham, and there were always rumors that he signed all these guitarists like Van Wilks, Stevie, and Eric Johnson just to stop them from being competition to ZZ Top,” says Freeman. “All I know is they were a great band who never made any money or recorded. All they did was go out on the road and starve to death eating mayonnaise sandwiches. With Stevie, Keith, and Doyle, that band could have been a real powerhouse.”
Adds Colonna, “Stevie wanted out of that contract with Bill Ham. Kim Davis and David Frame had a similar situation with their band Point Blank, which Ham also managed. They were held back and never had any real success.”
By September, the Nightcrawlers were broken up, and Stevie was frozen due to contractual obligations to Ham. He sat in with some people but did not form a new band. Bramhall, worried about his health and growing drug habit, moved back to Dallas. Stevie auditioned for a Dallas fusion band, playing some of the music to Derek O’Brien and asking him his opinion. “I didn’t know what to say because it seemed like the only reason he’d do it was because he really needed the money,” says O’Brien. “He turned them down.”
When Benno called Vaughan and told him he was hanging out songwriting in Bolinas, a hippie oasis in Northern California, Vaughan asked him to send a ticket. He had nothing going on—and very likely wanted to put some distance between himself and the debt-seeking Ham. Among the musicians they jammed with was Jerry Garcia, who told them that he would be signing acts to the Grateful Dead’s new Round Records and wanted to work with them. But with Benno still signed to A&M, which wouldn’t release him from the deal, signing with another label was impossible. Benno and Vaughan eventually cut more sides in Los Angeles. When nothing happened, Stevie returned to Austin, where a new band had recently taken shape: Paul Ray left Storm and formed the Cobras with bassist Alex Napier and guitarist Denny Freeman. Stevie Ray Vaughan would soon join them in what was to become Austin’s hottest band, providing immeasurable momentum to his development as a guitarist, singer, and performer.
4
STEPPIN’ OUT
The Nightcrawlers reunited for a night to open for Paul Ray and the Cobras on New Year’s Eve 1974, at Adobe Flats in Dallas, and Stevie asked Ray if he could join his band, which had a growing club reputation. Before welcoming him into the fold, Ray checked with his bandmates. It was particularly important for Ray to get the approval of guitarist Denny Freeman, whose nickname was the Professor due to his thoughtful manner and thorough knowledge of guitar styles and music history.
“I was the Cobras’ sole guitar player, so it was a little tough to have Stevie join, but it was also really exciting to play with him, and I loved the guy,” says Freeman, who was already a friend and occasional roommate of Jimmie’s. “I’ve heard people say that I taught Stevie how to play, and that’s ridiculous. He was great the first time I heard him. I sometimes helped him find chords or a note outside the blues scale, but there is nothing he could have learned from me about blues playing. He wasn’t as strong a rhythm player as he would become and didn’t fully grasp unusual chord changes that well yet, but his lead playing was there, and any fan of his later music would immediately recognize him.”
STEELE: Stevie learned so much from Denny, and his playing grew tremendously. His self-confidence and charisma blossomed, and he started moving away from the Clapton-influenced rock style into more of an Albert, Freddie, and B. B. King blues style.
Stevie and Denny in Paul Ray and the Cobras. (Mary Beth Greenwood)
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: When you first get going, you’ve got an idea in your head about how you want your playing to be and look for like-minded guys you don’t have to explain everything to. It took Stevie a little while in Austin to find the right combination as his playing evolved. It all started coming together when he joined the Cobras. In about a year and a half, he went from a kid playing guitar to “Stevie Ray Vaughan.”
SUBLETT: Stevie’s approach to music was fully formed, but chores like having money to pay rent or buy a car were kind of secondary. It could be irritating, but he was a lovable guy, and you couldn’t really get mad at him.
FREEMAN: He was younger than the rest of us, and he could be frustrating to deal with. Say we were getting ready to drive to Lubbock for a gig and we’re supposed to meet at the drummer’s house at noon. By 12:30, everyone’s there except for Stevie. Someone tries to call him and his phone’s cut off, so you say, �
��Somebody ought to drive by and get Stevie.”
So you go by his house, knock on the door, he answers and he just got out of bed and says, “Hey, let me take a shower.” So you wait, then he comes out to the car and goes, “Hey, can we take my girlfriend to work?” “Okay, Stevie.” So we drop her off and start back, when he says, “Anyone need to go to the music store?” “No, Stevie, we’ve all been there.” “Well, could we stop by because I need to get some strings?” “Okay, Stevie.” Then we’re on the way and he’ll go, “Hey, have y’all eaten?” “Yes, Stevie, we’ve all eaten.” “Well, could we run into Dan’s Hamburgers so I can grab me a few?” Then we’d get there and it would be, “Could someone lend me five dollars?” Then we’d finally get out of town.
SUBLETT: There was always that thing with Stevie: “Joe, you got any money?”
RODNEY CRAIG, Cobras drummer: One time we went to pick him up on our way out of town, and there was a note on his door that said, “At the Laundromat.” So we went down there and had to wait for him to finish his laundry. But he was a great bandmate who never copped an attitude.
FREEMAN: It was really difficult to get mad at Stevie and harder to stay mad at him, because he was sweet, funny, and nice. And he kept that sweetness throughout his life. I loved the little guy. We all did.
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: Stevie was very kind, soft-spoken, personable—truly a sweet, gentle person that would give you the shirt off his back and do anything for people he liked.
STEELE: Stevie always had a positive outlook on life. Despite not having money, struggling, and being on the couch circuit, he was always upbeat and looked to the positive side of things. Music was his driving force, and he figured the rest would fall in place. And he was right. He was great to have as a friend; he always had your back.
B. B. KING, king of the blues: He reminded me of my sons when they were about seven or eight years old. He just had so many questions and would follow me around, happy and smiling and eager to please.
DR. JOHN, New Orleans blues pianist and guitarist: Stevie had this real boyish charm. He kept this very appealing childhood innocence about him even when he wasn’t really innocent at all.
CLARK: I wouldn’t call him childlike. To me, he always seemed older than his years because he could be so serious and intent about life and music.
BETHEL: Though he was only twenty-one, he was very mature in how deep, sensitive, and aware he was. He was like the first real man I’d ever met. He was a very soulful, humble person and would never talk bad about anyone. But he could be insecure. It seemed like he needed a lot of love.
FREEMAN: Stevie almost didn’t talk about anything except guitars and music. He was completely obsessed with it, and so was I. We had similar tastes and were always trying to turn each other on to new stuff. Those were fun, exciting days because we were excited about everything. We would sit around for hours talking about music. That might sound boring, but with someone with a burning passion like Stevie, it’s anything but. He was just consumed with playing the damn guitar.
SUBLETT: He was focused on what he was doing as a player. He had a vision of who he wanted to be, and everything he did was towards that end. I always figured that he would get famous and make a lot of money and have someone to take care of all the other stuff for him.
BENNO: Stevie never put the guitar down. He would walk around the house with it around his neck. Like a basketball star dribbling everywhere, whatever little chore he was doing, he had the guitar.
SUBLETT: He was our honorary roommate and lived with us all the time. I‘d come home from gigs and see him lying on the couch, dead asleep with a guitar in his hands, like he fell asleep playing.
CIDNEY COOK AYOTTE: Even when he was a little kid, Stevie always had a guitar in his lap.
CRAIG: I never once went to his house when he wasn’t playing along to records by Django Reinhardt, Jimi Hendrix, or Albert King. He was incessant.
RAY HENNIG, owner of Heart of Texas music: I’ve owned a guitar store since 1960, and I’ve seen a lot of great musicians, but I don’t believe I’ve ever come across anyone half as obsessed with the guitar as Stevie was. He used to hang out in my store, just noodling on guitars all the time. I would say that he was one of my best customers except he didn’t have any money. He was broke all the time, so he never paid for anything in those days. He used to come by on his way to a gig and ask for a pack of strings. I’d toss him one, and he’d say, “Hey, if I make any money tonight, I’ll pay you.” And he would. I lent him guitars all the time. He’d take them for a week or two, then bring them back.
Bottoms up at the After Ours Club Austin, 9/25/77. (© Ken Hoge)
FREEMAN: We liked our Strats and Fender amps, but the gear was not the main thing. The focus of our passion was songs and records that we hadn’t heard before.
CLARK: He would not pass by a music store; he had to go in there and check out the guitars, and he was not looking for beauty. He was looking for sounds and tones. One time someone just walked up to him and gave him a guitar, and I thought, “Goddamn. People do that?” People would see how good he was and want him to have their instrument or to play something on it and hope that gives it some soul.
HENNIG: One day in ’74, he brought back a nice Strat he had been borrowing and was looking through all the instruments when he came to this ol’ beater. He picked it up and must have played around with it for a half an hour, just making chords, turning it over, looking at it, weighing it, before he asked if he could plug it in. I said, “Sure, but it sure is ugly.” So he plugged in and played for an hour or so, then told me he wanted it and asked if he could swap it for the one he had just returned. I said, “Well, you’re ripping yourself off. That has got to be the cheesiest Strat I’ve ever traded for. It’s raggedy assed and beat to death. What do you want it for?” He said, “It just feels good, Ray. It feels real good.” I figured he’d bring it back in a day or two, but he never did. That became his Number One.
5
BLUES WITH A FEELING
In 1974, Jimmie Vaughan and Storm, with Lewis Cowdrey on harmonica and vocals, were playing at Alexander’s Place in South Austin when Kim Wilson, a singer and harmonica player from California, sat in. Jimmie thought he was fantastic and soon flew to Minnesota, where Wilson was living, to play together for a couple of weeks. They returned to Austin to form a new band, whose name they had already settled on: the Fabulous Thunderbirds.
In their first months, the T-Birds played with different rhythm sections at the Rome Inn, the One Knite, and any other place that would have them. Jimmie was also still playing with the Storm, and at one of their gigs, he discovered another great singer, the sultry Fort Worth native Lou Ann Barton, and decided that his new band would have two dynamic front people, one male and one female.
“I was visiting Austin with my friend [drummer] Mike Buck, and we went and sat in with Storm at the Rooster Tail, and Jimmie flipped out and said, ‘I’m putting you in my new band,’” Barton recalls. “I said, ‘I don’t live here, honey.’ He introduced me to Denny [Freeman], then took me over to a house where Denny, Stevie, and [Cobras bassist] Alex Napier lived and said, ‘This is where you’re going to stay.’ It wasn’t a question. I didn’t know any of these people, but Jimmie was like a madman on the guitar, the best white player I’ve ever known. He had the tone and touch and played in a style that made me go crazy and get up and move. There was power and groove and sexiness in everything he played. When I heard him, I thought, ‘That’s the guy for me.’ So I stayed in Austin.”
The Fabulous Thunderbirds did not become a steady gigging band with a consistent rhythm section, bassist Pat Whitefield and drummer Fredde “Pharaoh” Walden, until July 1975, when twenty-five-year-old Clifford Antone opened Antone’s nightclub on East Sixth Street, at the time a desolate stretch of town. The club grew out of late-night jam sessions in the back room of his sandwich shop and import/export business. A blues fanatic from Port Arthur on the Gulf Coast, Antone was on a mission to both expose
the growing crop of great young blues musicians in town and to shine a light on the music’s giants, many of whom were struggling to continue careers at all.
“Clifford was just so passionate and serious about the blues, and he so much wanted to have the club so he could just hear the music, and so the guys could have a place to play,” says Susan Antone, Clifford’s sister, who was involved from the club’s start. “He just wanted people to know about and see the great blues men and women.”
Many blues musicians found themselves with staggering careers in 1975, including some of the sidemen who crafted the music’s classic sounds alongside their iconic bandleaders, including Jimmy Reed’s guitarist Eddie Taylor, Howlin’ Wolf guitarist Hubert Sumlin, Little Walter’s guitarist Luther Tucker, and Muddy Waters’s guitarist Jimmy Rogers and pianists Pinetop Perkins and Sunnyland Slim. All became Antone’s regulars, usually arriving solo and playing with a house band, often the Fabulous Thunderbirds, who would regularly open shows and then back the star attraction. Antone also went out of his way to reunite blues stars with the sidemen who helped them forge their signature sounds, such as Reed and Taylor or John Lee Hooker and harmonica player Big Walter Horton. Reigning blues stars like B. B. King, Albert King, and Muddy Waters also came to Antone’s with their bands.
JIMMIE VAUGHAN: Stevie and I had been playing at different clubs around town three, four nights a week in different lineups. Between Austin, Houston, San Antonio, and Dallas, you could play somewhere every night of the week. And then Antone’s opened, and all kinds of incredible stuff happened. It was the only place that wanted blues music all of the time.